


The Lunatic's Captive

by WrestlersOwnMyHeart



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drama, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Stockholm Syndrome, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrestlersOwnMyHeart/pseuds/WrestlersOwnMyHeart
Summary: When Dean Ambrose snaps and puts a beat down on his two Shield brothers—Roman Reigns, and Y/N's older brother, Seth Rollins—Y/N is appalled and heartbroken. Dean, the man she'd come to love, was not the man she thought he was. She had only seen the kind of hatred Dean had exhibited, during her childhood. Her and Seth's father had been a monster—abusing the both of them.When Dean gives her a heated and rather steamy kiss, and stalks away, she thought he was done with the Shield, the WWE—and her. And so did Dean. Until the night Y/N is brutally attacked and left for dead. When Dean comes to her rescue and whisks her away against her will, a secret she'd been keeping from him is no longer able to stay hidden.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Reader
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.
> 
> Chapter Content & Trigger Warnings: Slight sexual situations

**_Chapter 1_ **

You sat on the sofa in your dressing room watching the end of the night's show, your breath coming and going in shallow respirations. Your arms were wrapped around your torso, locked in place. Noticing you were rocking slightly from side to side, you stilled yourself; desperate to not resort to old childhood habits. You shook your head, rose to your feet and proceeded to pace across your dressing room. _God, its so freaking cold_ , you thought, rubbing your hands together, trying desperately to warm them up. You couldn't put an exact name on what it was you were feeling—you were feeling so many things at once—but none of those feelings were good.

Although you _had_ started out ecstatic as you watched your older brother and Dean Ambrose hold up the WWE Tag Team Titles in celebration of their victory, that happiness quickly got shot down when Dean kicked Seth in the gut and then hit Dirty Deeds on him.

And then Dean, the man you loved with all your heart, proceeded to beat the devil out of your brother.

You glanced over at the television again and saw Roman running to the ring. You exhaled sharply, and some of your raw nerves dissipated. _Ro will take care of this—he is the peace keeper. He will talk some sense into Dean and everything will be ok-_ Your thoughts were cut short as you watched Dean throw a hard right hook at Roman's head.

"What is _wrong_ with him," you thought out loud. Your panicked breathing returned with a vengeance. "This isn't part of the story line! It's not even _close_!"

You felt an almost unbearable urge to run down to the ring. The script had been tossed out the window obviously. _What would it hurt_ , you wondered. _I might be able to get Dean to calm down, to_ think _about what he is doing_. Even as you thought the ridiculous plan through, your hand absent-mindedly drifted down to your slightly rounded stomach and remained there, giving it a loving pat. "No, I can't. I cant take a chance on something happening. Seth and Ro will have to handle this." You felt guilty for not even attempting to help your brother and close friend, but you could not risk the welfare of the little life growing inside you.

You turned off the television, unable to watch any more. You sat down again trying to think of a risk-free way to help Seth and Roman.

"I could wait on Dean in their dressing room and talk to him there. He will have calmed enough by then, surely," you muttered to yourself. "I just can't... I can't not do _something_."

Your mind made up, you rose from the sofa again, left your dressing room and headed strait for Dean's. Your mind raced all over the place as you stalked down the hallway and turned the corner. You passed a couple more doors before you reached the one that had "The Shield" taped across it. Not bothering to knock, you walked in and immediately noticed that something wasn't right. You could see a few of Seth's things and some of Roman's things tossed carelessly around the room. Which was the normal part. The guys tended to do that during a show, and then would scramble about packing up their stuff in a hurry to get on the road or to the hotel they were staying at.

But what caught your eye, was that in one corner of the room, a rolling suitcase stood with Dean's jacket neatly folded and draped over it. None of his things were out of place.

And that... _That_ was the weird part.

Dean was the messiest one out of the Shield. He was always the first to throw his stuff around and the last to tidy up.

"He's ready to get out of here in a hurry," you realized out loud. You sighed and rubbed at your temples. _What is going on with him_ , you wondered. _How long has he been planning this_?

You thought back to a few months prior. Dean had become different. Quieter. He seemed worried about something. He wasn't the fun-loving Dean you knew him to be anymore. When you confronted him with it at your house one night, he wouldn't talk about it. Instead, he clammed up. Then at your persistence, he'd grown frustrated and latched onto your arms. You had a brief moment of fear before his mouth crashed against yours. And then you were in heaven. You never got him to talk about what was bothering him. You'd both been too busy ripping at each other's clothing stumbling to your bed and having endless sex over the next few hours.

You were happy then. _Maybe, just maybe, that's why Dean has been so distant and moody,_ you thought. _He has feelings for me and didn't know how to act on them. Probably because of Seth._

Yes, you were happy. At least you were until the proverbial morning after.

You woke that morning to bright sunlight filtering through your windows. As you turned on your side to avoid said offensive daylight, you found that Dean was lying beside you still, awake—seemingly deep in thought. You leaned over to kiss him, but he pulled away from you. He quickly sat up, then got out of the bed, and wordlessly began yanking on his clothes that were scattered about the floor of your bedroom.

"Dean, what is it," you'd asked, sitting up in the bed and holding the sheet up over your chest to hide your nakedness. Why you bothered, you weren't sure. It was just still so surreal to realize that you and Dean had spent the entire night having sex. "What's wrong?" You were dreading his reply. It wasn't going to be good. At all. You could feel it.

"This was a mistake," he drawled, his back turned to you. His voice seemed even more gravelly so early in the morning.

Your breath whooshed out of you. That's what you were afraid of. You had to save face. You had to preserve your friendship.

"I know," you said softly. _No it wasn't,_ you wanted to scream instead _._ You stood with the sheet wrapped around you, and forced a false brightness to your voice. "Let's just pretend it didn't happen. You go on ahead and go do what you have to do to get ready for the next show. Pack or whatever. I will catch up with you and Seth and Ro later."

And then you had moved past him without sparing him a glance, and entered your bathroom, clicking the door shut behind you. You'd gotten in the shower and silently cried your eyes out until the water ran cold.

Four months later, here you were. Still not knowing what was wrong with Dean. Pregnant with his child. You had no idea how to tell him. _Will he get even angrier? Will he get violent with_ me _?_ Normally, you would have rolled your eyes at such a question. But, after what you just witnessed, you had to wonder. Not to mention the abusive childhood you and Seth couldn't handle going through any of it again.

"Y/N... What'cha doin' in here?"

With a sharp gasp, you spun around; saw Dean watching you. Noticed how he kept stepping closer to you. He was shirtless and sweaty and the sight did things to your body you would rather ignore. You inched backward as he continued to advance on you. The way he moved, paced and stalked reminded you of your father even though it was hard to imagine Dean hurting you. "I-I... I want to know..." You took a deep breath and stepped back once more—bumped into the wall behind you. Dean followed you, staring intently at your face. And then he had you caged against the wall with his muscled arms.

"What, Y/N?" He demanded softly. His blue eyes bored into yours; held your gaze captive.

"Why... Why are you doing this? Why are you angry at Seth and Roman? At _me_?" The questions flooded from your mouth and you couldn't stop them. "What did we do-"

You got no further because his mouth was on yours. Again. He drove his tongue past your lips, with no care to whether you wanted the kiss, or not.

But of course you did. You could not, and _would_ not deny him anything. He growled low in his throat as he kissed you and pressed you further into the wall behind you. You couldn't stop him. Not even if you wanted to. You whimpered into his mouth, then moaned. Your arms moved upward to wrap around his neck as his took hold of your hips—tugged you closer against him. He whispered a curse against your lips and snagged both your wrists with one of his large hands, pinning them to the wall above your head. "What did you do?" His raspy voice taunted. "You went and made me want you so bad you're all I can think about. It's agony. I can't stand it!" His lips traveled down your neck as you struggled to free your hands—not in fear, but in the desire to touch him as well. But he had a death grip on your wrists. You weren't going anywhere. His free hand went around your throat, but didn't squeeze. He just held you in place while his mouth assaulted yours. Not that you minded, of course.

"Dean..." you panted his name in between his bruising kisses. "Dean, _please_..."

"What is it, Y/N?" His thumb stroked lightly over your pulse. You couldn't stop the shudder that rippled through your body. Then his fingers brushed over your swollen lips. "Ya want more?" At your shaken nod, he grinned and his beyond sexy dimples appeared in his cheeks despite the full beard he had grown out. He moved his face closer to yours. "You want me to screw you like I did that night, Doll? Make you scream my name again? And again?"

Tears burned your eyes, because he was mocking you. You could see it on his face, in his demeanor—his crude choice of words. You sobbed, humiliated and helpless. You loved him, despite his cruelty. "Y-yes."

If you didn't know any better, you thought you could see his gaze light up in surprise—just a fraction. He quickly recovered however, and smirked at you. He kept your hands pinned above your head as he leaned down, nibbled at your neck. "Tell me. Wanna hear ya say it." His free hand shifted down between your legs. "Who does this belong to?" You gasped at the sudden sexual contact; your pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc on your libido. A soft cry passed your lips and your hips rolled against his hand. Dean groaned in your ear, a tortured sound. "Tell me. _Now_."

"You," you panted nervously, struggling to keep your gaze on his. " _I_ belong to you."

Surprise did register on his face then. He didn't, or _couldn't_ hide it.

"Wh-what?" He was clearly baffled. The grip he had on your wrists slipped a tiny bit.

"I love you, Dean," you whispered. A tear finally spilled down your cheek. "I love you, so much."

The light left his eyes. His face went blank. He released you and stepped away. "You don't even know me, Y/N."

"Yes, I do," you protested. You approached him again—touched his arm tenderly. "There is so much more to you than..." You motioned with your head in the direction of the ring. "Than that. I've seen it. You've shown me-"

" **NO!"**

His roar startled you. Very much. You stumbled back away from him, collided into the front panel of the sofa arm.

"How can you say that," he demanded. "I haven't shown you anything but a good screwing session!" He reached out in his anger and flipped the little end table next to the couch. The lamp went crashing to the floor, right in front of your feet.

" _You stupid little brat_!"

You could hear your father's voice clear as a bell.

" _If you break one more thing in this house, I will kill you_!"

You could feel the sting of his slap next.

"Daddy... No..." you sobbed. Your legs buckled, and you slid down to the floor; hugged your knees. Rocked forward and backward. "Please, don't hurt me, Daddy..."

You didn't see Dean's wide, shocked eyes. Didn't see him back up as if he'd been struck himself. Didn't hear him utter a soft: "No. _No_. Son of a..." And you didn't see him turn, grab his suitcase and jacket, and leave; hurrying away from you and the fear he'd triggered.

You had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been only minutes. It could have been an hour. You became aware of the sound of glass crunching under feet. Male voices cursing up a storm. Warm hands on your face, gently tapping your cheeks.

"Baby girl... Come on. Snap out of it."

 _Ro_ , you thought, your mind still a little hazy.

"What's wrong with her? Why does she keep saying "Daddy" over and over?"

"Our dad was abusive," came Seth's voice next. He sounded uncomfortable as he explained your pasts to Roman. "She's having a flashback. Kiddo? Y/N? You're okay, I promise. You're safe. The old man can't hurt you anymore. He's dead. Remember, honey?"

Slowly, you came back to yourself and saw Seth and Roman crouched down in front of you, concern etched across their faces.

"Did he hit you," Seth demanded, tilting your chin up with his hand. "Did Ambrose put his hands on you?"

You shook your head, still in a daze somewhat. "No." _Not like you're thinking, anyway._ You let the two men help you to your feet and leaned into Seth a moment, trying to gain control over your shaky legs. "No, he just got angry. Flipped that table," you said, indicating the over-turned end-table and broken lamp. "The lamp shattered, and brought back an old memory. That's all."

"That's all?" Roman spoke up next. "That sounds pretty violent to me. Considering you're-"

"What? A woman," you tried to tease him, get things back to normal.

"Well, yeah," Roman replied, his onyx-colored eyes flashing. Obviously, it was going to take more than your feeble attempt at a joke to get him to lighten up. "That and the fact that you are so much smaller than any of us. He had to know better."

"Are you guys okay?" You reached up and turned Seth's face to get a better look at the black eye he was sporting. You noted Romans split lip.

"We're fine," Seth replied, pulling you into a hug. "Just glad you're okay."

You nodded. "I'm going to go get my stuff together and get home," you said, grateful that the show had been in your hometown that night. After the evening you'd had, you needed a night's sleep in your own bed. "I'll see you guys in Atlanta."

"Let me walk you back to your dressing room," Roman suggested. Only you had a feeling it wasn't really a mere suggestion. "Just in case, okay?"

You nodded, and allowed him to lead you out into the hallway. You'd walked almost half the distance before Roman spoke again. "The baby okay? Dean really didn't hurt you?"

You glanced around, making sure no one was within ear shot. Roman was the only person you'd told about the baby. Well, except for the McMahons and Hunter. You had no choice but to tell them so you wouldn't be put in any matches. They had all helped come up with the fake "weight-lifting/back injury" off screen, so that nobody would suspect anything more than that. You knew you'd have to divulge the info to everyone sooner or later, but you were opting for later.

"He didn't hurt me— _physically_ ," you replied softly. You left out the fact that you had started to wonder if he would however. "Don't worry, Ro. I'm fine. The baby is fine."

You'd reached your dressing room door then, and you both saw Stephanie McMahon hurrying in your direction. "There you are," she exclaimed. "Are you okay," she asked Roman. "Where's Seth?" Her gaze shifted over to you then. "Are _you_ okay?" She quietened her voice considerably. "The baby?"

You nodded.

"I think we are all okay," Roman replied. "Obviously, me and Seth have some unfinished business with Ambrose, though."

Stephanie looked absolutely stressed. And that was very unusual. She was usually the one who kept a level head through anything. "And I'm afraid its going to remain unfinished."

"What?"

You and Roman spoke at the same time.

"Dean came by my office a few minutes ago. I thought he wanted to discuss his new contract. But he said he was done. That's it—he said nothing else. He turned around and left. I have no choice but to accept that as his resignation."

Your mind went blank then. You couldn't imagine the WWE without Dean Ambrose. You couldn't imagine showing up to work with your baby, and his or her father not being there too.

"I-I have to get going," you said. "I need to get some sleep after this night."

"Let us know if you need anything," Roman said, pulling you into a quick hug. "We are only a phone call away."

"That goes for Hunter and I as well," Stephanie told you, patting your shoulder. "If there is anything we can do to help, just say the word."

You gave them each a small smile. "You have already helped me so much. Creating an injury angle for me, and keeping this a secret until I can get the courage to tell Dean and Seth. Thank you both so much." Giving them one last smile you stepped into your dressing room to finish packing up your things. A few minutes later, you reemerged, eager to get home and get some sleep. Thankfully, Roman and Stephanie were gone and the hallway was empty. You didn't want to talk to anyone. You just wanted to get to your car and drive home.

Hurrying out to your car, you got inside and headed for the freeway.

So preoccupied with your stress were you, that you didn't notice the black van tailing you from a short distance—following every lane change you made.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Dean stalked across his bedroom, grabbing things to pack and not even paying much attention to what it was he was placing in the suitcase.

He was angry. Angry at himself. For hurting his brothers. Hurting Y/N.

At just the thought of her, he roared and drove his fist into the wall nearest him. _How could I do that to her_ , he wondered. _Scare her like that_? He had always suspected that she and Seth had endured some kind of childhood abuse, but Y/N's reaction to him flipping that table cinched it.

Dean gritted his teeth at recalling how she crumpled to the floor, hugging herself, literally begging "Daddy" to not hurt her. He didn't know who her father was, but if he ever met him face-to-face he would gladly beat the devil out of the subhuman piece of garbage—no hesitation. "Fat chance I'd ever meet him, but if I do, I'll kill him."

He threw some more clothes into the suitcase along with a pair of black military boots and zipped the luggage closed. Then he gave a long, purposeful stare at the SIG Sauer laying next to his jacket on the bed. With only a slight hesitation, he picked the pistol up and put it in the shoulder holster he'd tugged on moments before. He'd just slid his jacket on to conceal the gun and holster when his cell phone rang.

"Yeah." His answer was curt and not welcoming at all.

" _Pretty girl you had back at the arena, Mox."_

And just like that his blood ran cold. He knew exactly who he was talking to. He couldn't let them know they'd just rattled him. He attempted a nonchalant reply. "The name's Ambrose. What do you want?"

" _UDM wants you back, Moxley. You've made quite the career for yourself with your little fake fighter friends and the ridiculous sheep you call fans, but its time you come back home_. _You made us a lot of money back in the day. You're gonna do it again_."

"No way," Dean shot back. "I've been done with you for years. I ain't goin' back. EVER."

" _I'll tell you who's done, if you don't get back here. That sexy little slut you had your hands all over back in your dressing room_."

"Touch her and you're a dead man."

" _Hope you both enjoyed that kiss. Gonna be her last, Moxley._ "

The line clicked.

He shouted with an emphatic curse and then snatched up the back pack that held his firearms and ammo, and then hauled his suitcase off the bed.

Only a matter of seconds later, he was in his SUV and peeling out of his driveway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.
> 
> Chapter Content & Trigger Warnings: Violence.

**_Chapter 2_ **

By the time you got home, unloaded your suitcase and repacked it with fresh clothing for the next round of shows, it was nearly 2 A.M.

 _Ugh_... _I should go to bed_ , you thought. "But I really need to unwind a bit." You were so keyed up you would never get to sleep without something to help you relax. You opted for a warm bubble bath. You headed into the bathroom and started running some bath water in your large claw-footed slipper tub. After adding some lavender-scented bubble bath, you began undressing, tossing your clothes into the laundry hamper.

Within minutes, your bath water was ready and you were slipping down into your beloved vintage bathtub. The fizzy bubbles never ceased to help you relax. The nagging tenseness in your muscles instantly began ebbing from your body.

Your hand moved down to rest on your ever-growing stomach. It had been easy enough to hide so far, what with baggier clothing. But being naked in the bathtub, there was no hiding it, whatsoever. You felt a swift little thump within your belly and you giggled, lovingly rubbing your swelling tummy with your hand. "You love these warm baths too, huh?" You felt another kick, stronger this time, and laughed a little louder, then cooed, "My goodness! You have your daddy's dropkick!"

And then you were sobbing and crying. For so many reasons. And not just due to your jacked up pregnancy hormones.

It felt as if everything was falling apart around you. You felt as if you'd also lost Seth and Roman. Which was ridiculous. _Okay, so_ that _part is due to the hormones_ , you admitted to yourself. But not everything else. You lost Dean. The father of your baby. The solidness of your friendship with him, and Ro, and Seth. The three of them together gave you so much strength. And now that strength was fractured. Along with your heart. "I'm so sorry, my sweet baby," you whispered, patting your tummy. "I wanted you to have a father—a _real_ dad. But, I seemed to have messed that up for you."

The sound of shattering glass jarred you strait out of your thoughts. _Did that come from my bedroom_? _My balcony doors_! You scrambled to get out of the bathtub without sloshing water and making noise, which was an impossible feat. You finally managed to climb out and not wasting time to dry off, you snagged your bathrobe from the hook on your bathroom door, and yanked the garment on. You inwardly groaned as you discovered the robe would barely tie around your belly. You needed to get a larger one. Soon. Then you rolled your eyes at yourself as you carefully opened the bathroom door and peeked out.

 _I am almost positive someone is breaking into my house, and here I am freaking out over my robe being too small_. _Such an idiot._

The hallway looked clear. You stepped out quietly, keeping your eyes peeled and your gaze darting everywhere in an attempt to catch any signs of movement. _I need to get downstairs. Get a weapon. Get out of the house!_ Those thoughts at the forefront of your mind, you began your cautious descent down the wooden stairs. You slipped, and barely saved yourself from falling down the remainder of the staircase. _I should have dried my feet off at least_ , you thought regretfully. _But there was no time! I just have to get out of here. Get to a neighbor's house, somehow._ The thought made you hesitate. How would you make it to a neighbor's house when the nearest one was about a mile down the road and you were barefooted? _Great idea, Y/N_ , you berated yourself. _You just HAD to have your privacy and live out in the country, didn't you_?

You fought the urge to cry. It would do you no good, and tears would not save you. You had to save yourself. There was no other option.

You made it into the kitchen, and grabbed a butcher knife out of the knife block on your counter-top; the blade making a metallic _swoosh_ as it came out of its slot. The pantry door directly behind you blew open at that moment and a powerful arm wound around your neck instantly. With a startled scream you shot your knifed hand upward and back, but it never reached its target. Your attacker seized your wrist and squeezed it painfully in his grip until you had no choice but to drop the knife.

"Please," you gasped out, struggling with his arm's iron-clad hold on your neck. "Take whatever you want— _anything_. But _please_ , don't hurt me! I'm pregnant!"

"Then I guess that's _your_ fault, little girl," a male voice rasped in your ear. "Because I have orders. You die tonight."

You sobbed, and immediately hated yourself for it. "Who _are_ you?! Why are you doing this? Who wants me dead?" Even as you asked the questions, you bucked against him, desperate to get free.

You heard the man's exerted grunt just as, what you could only assume was his fist, connected with your lower back, and almost simultaneously, electricity was shooting up your entire body. Your blood seemed to scorch your veins. _All_ of them. Your knees threatened to buckle, but you knew if you went down, the man would have you right where he wanted you. You couldn't give him that. If he was going to kill you and your baby, then win or lose, he was going to have a fight on his hands.

You were flung around and pinned against the counters. His hand grabbed your throat this time and squeezed just enough to show you the power he had in his grip. You couldn't make out much about him in the darkness of the kitchen. He appeared to be bald and possibly clean-shaven.

"The only question is..." He said calmly— _too_ calmly. " _How_ should you die? Make it look like suicide? Or... like you just disappeared without a trace? Or maybe just good, old-fashioned murder? A murder no cop would ever solve, because I'm just that damned good." He squeezed your throat a little tighter. "Nah, that wouldn't be any fun. I take delight in causing as much pain as I can... So, why don't we go with suicide? Devastate that brother of yours? And that big Samoan?"

"They would never believe it," you choked out. The man's hand was getting tighter by the minute. Not to mention your kidney felt as though it was spasming after the punch it took. "I have too much to live for."

"Mox doesn't want you, does he? That seems like enough to drive a mommy-to-be over the edge."

"Mox?" Now you were _really_ confused. "I don't even _know_ a Mox. You have the wrong person! Let me go!" Your struggle began anew. _No way am I dying for something I have nothing to do with and know nothing about_!

His fist tightened around your throat then, until you couldn't even get a fraction of a breath. Your time was running out. _I have to do something. Now._ Your brain was growing fuzzy from the lack of air. As quickly as you could, you reached up and gouged one of the man's eyes with your thumb, hard. He shouted and released you for an instant. An instant that bought you a little more time.

You drove your knee up into his groin.

And as he gasped and sputtered and grabbed at his crotch when he collapsed to his knees you drew your fist back and punched him square in the face.

Then, you spun around and ran. Stumbling to the stairs, your plan was to get into your bedroom and lock yourself in. Your cell phone was in there and you could call for help. Plus, you could look for something to use as a weapon. If you lived in a normal neighborhood, you would have simply ran out your front door and got help at a neighbor's house. But that was not an option at the moment. Glancing back toward the kitchen, you saw the man slowly getting to his feet, still wheezing.

A loud curse roared through your kitchen.

His shout sent you scurrying up the stairs as quickly as was possible. You could hear your cell phone ringing in your bedroom! At this hour the only person calling you would be either Seth or Roman. They could call the police for you if the man got to you before you could place the call yourself. Pain was hitting you in every square inch of your body, but you had to ignore it. You had no time to think about it. You had to get to that phone!

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU _SLOW_ , YOU LITTLE WHORE!"

You reached the landing to the second floor when you heard him approaching the stairs. You hobbled into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you and securing the lock, not bothering to turn on the light. Your ringing phone was providing the only light you needed at that moment. You dove for your night table and snatched up your phone, fumbling a bit as you tried to tap the "Answer" icon.

"Seth? Ro? Help me, _please_! He's trying to kill me! Please, call 9-1-1-"

" _Y/N_?! _Doll_? _I'm on my way to your house, baby_ — _right now_! _Are you hidden_? _Ya safe_?"

_Dean?_

"I'm l-locked in my b-bedroom," you stammered, growing even more confused. "Why are you-"

" _Sweetheart, stay locked in. I'll be there in less than five minutes_."

The man had apparently finally made it up the stairs and was now trying to kick your door in. "Oh, God... Dean... He's trying to break into my bedroom! My door won't hold! Please, call the police!"

" _The police ain't enough, Y/N. These guys... The police have no idea who they're dealin' with_."

Your door began shuddering and you ran to your closet, desperate to find something— _anything,_ to use as a weapon. _I'll use one of my freaking stilettos if I have to_! Then your gaze fell on your old softball bat from high school. You grabbed it up.

"And how do _you_ know," you hissed, beginning to wonder what the devil Dean had gotten himself mixed up in. You could hear the door threatening to splinter as the killer on the other side of it continued to try and break it down. You didn't have much longer.

" _I used to be tied in with them_."

"Oh, my God... Are you a _killer_?"

There was a long pause. " _That is a hard question to answer, Y/N._ "

"Oh, my God..." You cried again. Then, realization dawned. "Are- Are you coming to help him kill me?!"

The notion seemed so ludicrous! But... Dean had shown a side of himself that you'd never seen before. He was different. Harder. Colder. And there was a man outside your door trying to kill you. A man that Dean apparently had some sort of connection with. You had no idea what to believe.

You had no way of knowing if Dean answered your question or not, because your door all but exploded then. You had no choice but to drop the phone and wield the bat in front of you. Drawing it over your head, you charged at the large man now standing in your bedroom. "Get out of here," you screamed. "Leave me alone!" You swung the bat downward, aiming for his head. Unfortunately, the pain radiating through your body had affected your motor skills. The killer latched onto the bat and yanked it toward him, pulling you with it—and consequently—closer to him. He held it out between the two of you horizontally, an end in each of his hands. You could see where this was headed, but you couldn't let go of the bat completely. He would have it to his full advantage then. The killer smirked before driving the bat strait into your forehead. You stumbled back—stunned, before tumbling to the floor with a soft, pained groan. You could vaguely hear Dean's frantic voice over the phone laying beside you in the floor, but you couldn't make out his words due to the ringing in your ears. Then the pain in your head finally registered. Your skull throbbed and ached, and quite frankly, felt as if it was on fire.

 _A concussion_ , you wondered.

And that is all you had time to think about. Strong hands latched onto your throat and squeezed—viciously hard. You could literally feel the man's hatred for you.

"I am gonna choke you till you pass out, and then wake you up and do it again. And again. And again. You'll wonder each time whether you'll wake up or not," the man growled in your face. Sheer terror took over and you grasped at his hands, trying to free yourself. "You are going to BEG me for mercy—to just finish you off quickly. But I won't. You're gonna suffer now, little girl."

Your eyes felt as if they were about to explode. You had to do something. You couldn't give up. You tried to scream to no avail. In a last ditch effort, you lifted your hands to his face and scratched at his eyes, his cheeks, his neck, _anything_ that would make him let you go. You could feel small shreds and fragments of his skin under your fingernails. His distant shout filled your still-ringing ears, and he finally released you.

You needed to move. You knew you did. But you couldn't. Your limbs would not cooperate until you'd gotten sufficient oxygen to your brain. You lay there, gasping and coughing. When you were finally able to move a bit, you tried to rise to your feet.

"Oh, no ya don't!"

You made out a metallic clicking sound, and in the next instant felt a burning pain at your right shoulder-blade. Wet warmth streamed down your back and over to your neck, down your chest. Your intentions to get on the move were still there. But your body would not get on the same page with what your brain wanted to do. Something scraped at the bones in your shoulder and you felt bile threatening to rise in your throat. You fought off the urge to gag as you were flipped onto your back.

A choked cry passed your lips as cold metal pressed against your neck. "Looks like your time is up, whore."

You made a feeble attempt to grab at the knife at your throat. But the man nicked your skin and pulled the knife out of your reach. The sicko was toying with you and enjoying every moment of your torture. He brought the knife to your stomach then—and slashed. Your weak scream was a mixture of pain and terror. "Not... m-my ba- baby..." you whispered. Your teeth were chattering now. A tear rolled down your temple and seemed to scorch your rapidly-chilling skin. Within your muddled mind you were somehow able to detect the signs that you were going into shock.

The killer ignored your soft pained words and grinned down at you. "You're just too stupid to realize it, aren't you? IT'S OVER!"

Despite the fuzzy ringing in your ears, you heard a sudden... _shout_ of some sort. It sounded human, if your ears weren't tricking you. A male. And he sounded...scared. And furious. _Lethal—_ like a wounded animal.

And then your attacker was not on top of you anymore. The knife was gone from your neck. You wanted to roll onto your side; to stand up _somehow_ and get out of there. But your shoulder had become completely numb and your arm was useless; your body heavy and slow.

You became aware of the sound of punches, and kicks, and stomps and snarls. You shifted your head toward the two men in your bedroom just in time to see the newest assailant grab hold of your attacker's head and give it a violent twist. There was a very audible _CRACK_ as the killer's neck broke. The other man tossed the lifeless corpse to the floor. You could make out his silhouette turning toward you in the darkness—could feel his eyes raking over your body.

"Please..." you choked out, trying to drag yourself away from him with your uninjured arm. You winced at the twinge in your upper back but somehow managed to fight and claw your way to your feet. The pain was lessening, but that only frightened you. It couldn't be a good or _normal_ sign after what your body had gone through. "Don't..." You sobbed in your despair and stumbled back several steps; bumped into your dresser and sent various items crashing to the floor. You grasped the edge of the bureau in order to stay upright. You didn't have any more fight left in you. You just didn't.

You heard the man mutter something under his breath. Your bedside lamp turned on. You were blinded for a moment as your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. But then... Then you saw Dean. Hurrying over to you. His arms went around you and gently tugged you against him. A weak yelp passed your lips as a sudden burst of pain attacked your shoulder and back. You flinched at his touch, still terribly frightened.

 _It's Dean_... you thought. _But_... _He just killed a man_! _He broke his neck—right in front of me_! _He's a killer_! You began struggling anew, but Dean's hold on you was firm. "You _killed_ him..." you cried, growing more frightened. "Oh, God... Dean, what is going on?" Your breath came in snatches as you panicked. "Please, let me go..."

"Shhh-shhh, you're gonna be okay, Doll. Promise." His fingers brushed over your neck, pausing at your pulse to monitor the beat of your heart—which was all over the place.

"No," you whispered, trembling and shivering. _So cold..._ The floor was swirling at your feet. "Never okay again... Feel sick..." And though you fought to stay awake, your body had had enough. You began sinking. Despite the distinct feeling of Dean's arms holding you up, you felt yourself plummeting.

Darkness claimed you then, but you could have sworn you heard Dean apologizing softly in your ear as you faded.

"I'm sorry honey. So, so sorry."

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Dean sped down the freeway, keeping his eyes peeled in the darkness for the turnoff to Y/N's road. He had a bad feeling he may already be too late.

A very bad feeling.

He used his car's bluetooth to place a call to Y/N, all the while breaking the speed limit. By a lot.

Her phone rang.

And rang. And rang.

"Baby, come on! Pick up the phone!"

The rings finally ceased and Y/N's frantic voice was crying out to him. Or to Seth or Roman, rather.

" _Seth_? _Ro_? _Help me_ , _please_! _He's trying to kill me! Please, call 9-1-1_ -"

His heart flew into his throat. He pulled a sudden sharp turn onto her road. _I_ am _too late_ , he thought. _There's still a few miles to go._ "Y/N?! Doll? I'm on my way to your house, baby—right now! Are you hidden? Ya safe?"

" _I'm l-locked in my b-bedroom_." She sounded more than a little confused and absolutely terrified. " _Why are you_ -"

He cut her off. There was no time for questions. "Sweetheart, stay locked in." He pressed harder on the gas pedal even as he spoke. "I'll be there in less than five minutes." He heard a loud wooden thud in the background and gritted his teeth. He hissed a curse under his breath.

" _Oh, God... Dean_... _He's trying to break into my bedroom_! _My door won't hold_! _Please, call the police_!"

"The police ain't enough, Y/N. These guys... The police have no idea who they're dealin' with."

" _And how do_ you _know_?"

Her voice sounded accusatory then, and he didn't blame her. In the least.

He hesitated before answering, hating to deliver the next blow. "I used to be tied in with them."

" _Oh, my God... Are you a_ killer?"

He inwardly groaned. "That is a hard question to answer, Y/N _._ "

" _Oh, my God_... _Are- Are you coming to help him kill me_?!"

"God, baby... No. Why would-"

He heard the sound of wood breaking, and then Y/N was screaming.

" _Get out of here_! _Leave me alone_!"

There were the sounds of a struggle and then a dull thud, followed by Y/N's soft gasp of pain; the sound of her body falling to the floor. " _Y/N_! I'm coming, baby!" He had no idea if she could even hear him.

" _I am gonna choke you till you pass out, and then wake you up and do it again. And again. And again_. You'll wonder each time whether you'll wake up or not." Dean heard the man growl sadistically. " _You are going to BEG me for mercy_ — _to just finish you off quickly. But I won't. You're gonna suffer now, little girl._ "

"NO!" Dean's fist beat the steering wheel in his frustration. His car was nearly flying over the gravel of the road. He tuned out what he was hearing over the phone then. He had to. If he had to hear Y/N cry out in pain once more he was going to lose his mind. He couldn't handle wondering what the guy was doing to her. He would most likely be rendered useless to Y/N.

Finally, he spotted her large house and didn't bother with the driveway. He just charged into the yard and slammed on the breaks, narrowly missing her mailbox. Barely managing to kill the engine, Dean jumped out of the SUV and tore for Y/N's front porch. It took him two hard kicks to get her front door open, but then he was inside and running for her staircase.

He was flying up the stairs when he heard the man's voice: "...too stupid to realize it, aren't you? IT'S OVER!"

Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Dean then. As he reached the landing, he could see into Y/N's bedroom. A large man's silhouette straddled Y/N in the darkness, holding a knife to her throat. His vision went stark red, and he became aware of a loud, pained battle-cry ripping through the atmosphere as he charged into the room and tackled the man away from Y/N. He was aware of punching the low life. Punching, kicking, he even threw in a head-butt for good measure. And when the killer was stunned for a brief moment, Dean grabbed hold of his head and the next thing he knew, he was hearing a sickening crack echo throughout the room.

He turned and saw Y/N still lying in the floor. His gaze took a quick assessment of her to make sure she was unharmed.

"Please," she cried softly. He saw as she tried to move farther away from him, and he was angry with himself once again. She somehow made it to her feet, albeit shakily. Then she stumbled back into her dresser. "Don't..."

"I'm an idiot," he grumbled softly, reaching over to turn on her bedside lamp. Then he wasted no time in going to her and pulling her into his arms. A pained cry burst from her lips and she winced. Whether from fear or pain, Dean couldn't tell. He began checking her over, spotted blood at her shoulder and neck.

"You _killed_ him..." she sobbed. "Oh, God... Dean, what is going on? Please, let me go..."

"Shhh-shhh, you're gonna be okay, Doll. Promise." His hand stopped its roaming at her neck, checking her pulse.

Y/N shivered as she shook her head. "No." She was swaying then; about to pass out. "Never okay again... Feel sick..." Dean watched helplessly as her eyes lost focus and she fell limp with a soft whimper.

"I'm sorry honey. So, so sorry." He whispered the words as he bent downward, scooping her legs up, and cradled her. He immediately headed over to her bed and gently deposited her onto it in order to better check for injuries.

The blood at her shoulder had him worried. It was a lot. He gently tugged the shoulder of her robe down so he could better see her skin, and then turned her torso so he could find the wound. It was at her shoulder-blade. A river of colorful curses flowed free from his mouth in a growl. The wound was deep and jagged—a stab. He'd had some basic medical training in his past, but this... She needed a doctor. Soon.

Sighing shakily, he eased her onto her back once again and began planning mentally. He went to her dresser drawers and pulled out an over-sized nightshirt to dress her in. He laid the garment on the mattress, and then he grabbed her quilt off the quilt-rack at the foot of her bed and laid it down beside her. His gaze fell on her suitcase. He grabbed it and ran down the stairs to his car where he opened the passenger door and laid the seat back flat, and then piled the suitcase in the backseat.

Seconds later, he was back up in her bedroom and untying the belt of her robe.

That is when he spotted more blood.

At her stomach.

"What?" _Did the monster stab her_ twice, his mind roared as he then frantically began trying to remove the robe from her body.

He tugged the garment free and meant to assess the wound.

But he became distracted by the soft swell of her belly.

He stared blankly—his brain not computing, nor processing what he was seeing. His hand moved toward her with a mind of its own. Entranced, his fingers brushed lightly over her rounded stomach. "No," he whispered, his voice cracking. He laid his palm tenderly against her warm belly then, breathing heavily. He felt a firm thump against his hand and jolted. "No." _My baby_ , he thought, dumbstruck. _She is having my baby._ His gaze went icy then as it shifted to the dead man in the floor. _That son of a... he tried to kill her—and my baby. Tried to take what's mine._ "Should'a killed you slow."

Shaking his head to clear it, Dean quickly checked the wound on Y/N's stomach. It appeared to be a superficial cut. _Shouldn't need stitches, at least_ , he thought. He tugged the nightshirt onto Y/N's limp frame, and then gently wrapped her up in the quilt before pulling his cell phone out and making a call.

" _Hello_?"

"Doc, it's... It's Mox." Dean began at hearing his older friend's voice. He almost shuddered at using his past name. He'd hoped he'd never have to use it again. "I know its been a long time, but... I need your help."

" _Well, Moxley_ ," the older man exclaimed. " _All you have to do is ask, son. What do you need_?"

Dean hesitated. He hated to even utter the words. "UDM is after me. They..." He puffed out a sigh. "They came after someone I... Someone close to me. She's hurt. Bad." He glanced down at her and saw that her pallor was getting much lighter. Sweat dotted along her hairline. "I can't take her to a hospital—that'll be the first place they look for her."

" _Say no more. Meet me at the_ -"

"Don't say it. Not over the phone," Dean cut him off. "I know where. I will be there as soon as I can."

He ended the call and pocketed his phone, wasting no time in lifting Y/N up into his arms. Then he was carrying her down the stairs and out the front door. He heard her whimper slightly as he neared his car.

"Please, don't hurt me..."

He glanced down. Saw that she'd come to, but only slightly. "I'd never hurt you, Doll." He watched as her eyes went out of focus and threatened to close again. "I can't lie though. That stung a bit," he said, gently laying her on the flattened passenger seat. "But I realize I didn't give you much reason to trust me, earlier tonight." He tucked the quilt around her and buckled the lap-belt across her waist, then closed the door and hurried to the driver's side. He quickly got behind the wheel and tore out of the yard; driving like a bat out of hell in his haste to get to Doc. He was Y/N's only hope at that point.

"Hang on, baby," Dean said softly, snagging her limp hand in his free one as he drove. He squeezed it; brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "Just hang on."


End file.
